


The Very First Mistake

by quirkysubject



Category: Queen (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Background Relationships, Banter, Denial of Feelings, Explicit Language, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, Happy Ending, Humor, Idiots in Love, Jealousy, Long-suffering friends, M/M, Prompt Fic, first kiss (sort of)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-16
Updated: 2020-11-16
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:34:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,742
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27587539
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quirkysubject/pseuds/quirkysubject
Summary: Roger and Freddie are, like, super chill around each other
Relationships: Freddie Mercury/Roger Taylor
Comments: 20
Kudos: 31





	The Very First Mistake

**Author's Note:**

> This came out of the tumblr "letter + pairing" game/challenge. The prompt was Froger + Zero Chill Around Each Other. The whole collection of ficlets, headcanons and blurbs can be found [on my tumblr.](https://quirkysubject.tumblr.com/post/634563452341452800/letter-pairing-blurbs-ficlets) Thanks to everyone who played!
> 
> Title stolen from Freddie's "Jealousy".

“You can stop now.”

Roger pretends not to notice John at all, so completely engrossed is he in his improvised drum solo (at least he claims it’s improvised, as if they couldn’t all guess the reason he was in the practice room an hour early).

“He’s gone to grab some tea,” John shouts over the noise, underlining his words with some gestures. “You can take a break.”

That finally gets Roger to stop playing, albeit it’s only to make some choice gestures of his own.

John smirks and forms a heart with his fingers, ducking just in time to evade a flying drumstick.

~~~

“Do you think he’ll like it?”

“Yes, I’m sure he will,” Brian says, nodding encouragingly.

Freddie picks up the scarf and it looks as if they’re almost - _finally_ \- going to get out of this crowded, overheated, noisy shop crammed with tourists. But then he puts it back down. And picks up the one he’d discarded right at the start of this endeavour, roughly five thousand years ago.

“This fabric feels much nicer though. Look, it’s all-natural.” Freddie proudly holds the label for Brian to inspect.

“Freddie, you realise that’s a completely meaningless phrase, right?”

Freddie pouts as he strokes lovingly over the scarf. “But it would bring out his eyes so well…”

“Fine, take this one then.” Right now, Brian would allow Freddie to buy genuine mink fur if it got them out of here before his head explodes.

Predictably, the new favourite is immediately discarded for a previously undiscovered treasure and _oh for the love of God_ surely there must be a natural limit to the possible combination of fabrics and weaves and colours and patterns, right? _Right_?

“He's wearing a lot of green these days,” Freddie muses while Brian is quietly contemplating murder next to him, “although I’m not sure this is _quite_ the right shade." He puts the scarf back down. "Let’s have a look at what they’ve got over there…”

~~~

Roger is ready to throw a punch as he shuffles to the door of his bedsit. Whoever rings up at storm at god knows what time on a Saturday morning deserves to be publicly guillotined, no matter what Brian’s got to say about it. Who needs high-flying ethic principles anyway? It’s not like they’re any good against a hangover.

“What,” he snaps, pulling the door open just enough to glare through the crack.

Oh shit. Oh shit oh shit _shit_ it’s Freddie, looking flawless with his hair and his eyeliner and his leather jacket and those perfectly fitted jeans, while Roger looks (and quite possibly smells) like a chipmunk died on his head.

Freddie raises his eyebrows. “Morning,” he says and holds up a bag with the logo of the downstairs bakery. “I brought croissants?”

That jogs a memory in Roger’s brain. The clothes. They’d acquired two giant bags of ~~old rags~~ vintage clothes the other day, and Freddie wanted to come by to sort through them and see if there’s anything they could use as stage costumes or perhaps just sell on eBay. And Freddie was supposed to bring breakfast. Which he did.

And Roger’s standing here, wearing a pair of boxers with holes in them and an old Ninja Turtles shirt (because, it’s, like, really comfortable, alright?) and his little bedsit hasn’t been aired or hoovered in forever and there are clothes and books and all sorts of stuff lying about.

If it were Brian or John, he wouldn’t bat an eyelash before asking them in. Perhaps he’d clear the junk off the sofa, but that would be the height of effort he’d put in. But Freddie is _different_.

Freddie’s smile falters. “I’m a bit early, I suppose. I can…” He looks around left and right, as if there were any answers waiting for him in the drab hallway. “Or did I get something mixed up? I thought we said today, but it might have been next week? Oh, silly me.” He laughs a bit too loudly.

Roger can’t let Freddie take the fall for this, especially since they both know that they meant today. “No, no, you’re right I’m just…” He takes a deep breath and holds up his hand. “Give me just one minute, alright?”

It takes five, and he almost breaks his ankle as he tries to jump into a pair of jeans and comb his hair and shove an armful of unwashed dishes into a random drawer at the same time, but when he opens the door again (really hoping his ‘first thing out of the wardrobe’-outfit passes as Saturday morning casual), Freddie’s still there. Except now he’s holding two cups of tea as well.

~~~

“Are you sure it’s alright?”

“'Course it’s alright,” Freddie whispers as he draws Andrew a bit closer against him. “Why wouldn’t it be?”

“Only I don’t want to intrude on anything, you know?”

Freddie detaches his lips from his date’s neck just far enough that he can look him in the eyes. “Intrude?” he asks.

Andrew gives him a bit of an annoyed look and tilts his head towards the other end of the room. “With your boyfriend,” he says.

“What boyf… ah.” He doesn’t even have to look. Ever since this mess with Bill, Roger has taken to scrutinising his (prospective) boyfriends with the eagle eyes he doesn’t actually possess. Freddie rolls his eyes. “Oh, he’s not my boyfriend, love.”

“And yet you know exactly who I’m talking about.” Andrew wriggles out of Freddie’s grasp and picks up his drink. “Sorry, not my thing,” he says.

“He’s just a friend,” Freddie protests. “I’ll tell him to knock it off. He can be a bit… overprotective.”

Andrew looks from him to Roger, who’s scowl would make lesser men tremble. In fact, it makes _Freddie_ tremble. He’s not sure what that says about him.

“Good for you,” Andrew says, pats Freddie on the shoulder and walks away.

~~~

“She’s _using_ you, and if you can’t see that, then-”

“Just because you don’t like her doesn’t mean she’s a bad person, Freddie.” Roger crosses his arms and glares at Freddie. Whatever has got into him that he feels like has to badmouth Roger’s girlfriend all the time?

“She made you get up at three in the morning - on the night before an exam - to drive her home from some bar in God knows where because she had no money left for a cab.”

“That’s what you do for a girlfriend. Or boyfriend. I’m sure she would have done the same if-”

Freddie throws up his arms. “She was on a date with her ex!”

“It was birthday drinks with a number of friends and he happened to be among them.”

“Oh yes, and he also happened to post those pictures from a romantic getaway with a mystery woman juuuuuust the same week that Emma had to go back to Bristol for a family emergency.”

Roger does his best to keep his expression steady. He _did_ have an odd feeling about that sudden disappearance. But he’d rather bite off his tongue than admit it to Freddie right now. “Freddie, why the fuck are you so concerned about my girlfriend’s ex’s holiday plans?”

“Because I won’t stand by and watch her play you like a fiddle!”

“She’s not playing me, she… she’s just having a bit of a hard time, you know?”

“Roger, for her you’re a cock with a driving licence! The moment her vibrator learns to steer a car, you’ll be out the door faster than you can say 'magic wand’”

“Fuck off!”

“Roger…” The shocked, wide-eyed expression on Freddie’s face shows that he knows he’s gone too far.

But Roger’s had enough. “Get out!” He grips Freddie’s wrist and bodily drags him to the door. “And I don’t want to see your face in here ever again!”

~~

It’s close to midnight the next day when his phone chimes.

` Can I come up?`

Freddie doesn’t bother replying, he just gets up and buzzes Roger in. He looks like he hasn’t got any more sleep than Freddie, which is close to none.

“I’m sorry,” Freddie says, as soon as the door falls shut behind them. “I shouldn’t have said-”

“’s alright,” Roger mumbles. “You were right.” A brief smirk flits over his gloomy expression. “Not about her vibrator, but… all the rest.”

“Oh, that’s…” Freddie’s not sure what to say. 'Congratulations’ really isn’t appropriate for a breakup, and he’s already tried 'sorry’.

“Yup.” They walk into his tiny cramped room and Roger produces a bottle of wine from his bag. “Got an opener?”

They both have to get up early tomorrow. And the thought of sitting here with Roger late at night, getting tipsy without other people around, is enough to make his palms sweaty. Not in an entirely bad way. It's just that he knows he’s going to mess it up again, just as he always does. But Roger's here, and he's asking, so there's only one option.

“Sure,” he says and fetches it from the kitchen, along with two glasses.

They end up on the floor, at right angles, Freddie with his back against the bed, and Roger's against the wall, next to the bookshelf. He drinks too fast in his haste to fill the silence and the stillness with something, wine spilling over his chin. He barely catches the drops before they stain his shirt. And all under the watchful gaze of Roger’s blue eyes, fuck.

“Freddie…”

“Hm?” Freddie fiddles with the stem of his glass, pretending to be fascinated by the reflection on the light, when really he’s just trying to look anywhere but at Roger.

Then Roger leans forward to take the glass out of his hands, putting it on the shelf alongside his own. He breathes in, then out, the shaky exhalation audible in the quiet of the room. Slowly, he reaches out until his hand brushes Freddie’s, a light, tentative touch that has his heart racing and his ears burning. Freddie stares uncomprehendingly at their joined hands for a moment, then slowly lifts his gaze.

Roger’s expression is unreadable for a heartbeat. Then he lifts their joined hands and places a kiss on Freddie’s knuckles, never taking his impossibly large eyes off him.

Freddie has no idea what his face must look like in that moment, but whatever it is, it’s enough to make Roger smile in a way that - albeit small - lights up his entire face.

And Freddie smiles back.

**Author's Note:**

> What can I say? It's dark and rainy and most of us are in lockdown again, so... let me throw sweet, fluffy things your way 😊
> 
> Also: In order to celebrate my fandom anniversary, I'm collecting requests for an addition to [For The Day I Take Your Hand](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21575575/). So if you have any wishes or ideas, throw them my way! (See this [tumblr post](https://quirkysubject.tumblr.com/post/634762629667258368/dear-all-almost-one-year-ago-on-27-november) for more details.)


End file.
